


Hell or Frozen Water

by 2Nienna2



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Back to Middle-Earth Month, Ficlet, Gap Filler, Gen, Lórien (mentioned), OC death, brief moment of gore, canon-typical pervasive gloom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 00:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18377027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Nienna2/pseuds/2Nienna2
Summary: When I saw the ships burning in the distance, for a moment I thought it was some sort of celebration. For a moment it reminded me of the bonfires in springtime, and the grand holidays when all the children would dance together, spinning wildly. But then the fire grew too large and too bright to carry my wishful thinking, and I knew. I think we all knew, right then.





	Hell or Frozen Water

**Author's Note:**

> Cútyulusse: Crescent of poplar (Quenya.) Credit for the name goes to the people of RealElvish.com  
>  **B2MeM Prompts, Cards, and Numbers:** N44: freeze your face off (In a Manner Of Speaking), B11: hell or high water (In a Manner Of Speaking, B10: Let’s talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs. (In the Words of Shakespeare), B12: A bonfire (Story Elements), B7: Sword and shield (Story Elements), I18: I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. (The Late, Great, Mary Oliver), O67: Irmo (In Your Dreams)

When I saw the ships burning in the distance, for a moment I thought it was some sort of celebration. For a moment it reminded of the bonfires in springtime, and the grand holidays when all the children would dance together, spinning wildly. But then the fire grew too large and too bright to carry my wishful thinking, and I knew. I think we all knew, right then.  
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After Uncle decided that, come what may, he would take us across the Grinding Ice to Endórë, some of our number returned to Valinor. We who remained were to put down all our things and carry only what was most necessary. That meant leaving irreplaceable books, and precious gems, even some of our swords. We figured we’d be more likely to freeze from the piercing cold of metal and the exhaustion of carrying them than we were to encounter dangerous creatures nine feet deep in snow and ice. We had no illusions that all would survive the Crossing. Only a stubborn-headed surety that we had to try.  
Foolish, yes, but certainly brave, we set off.  
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We were only four days in when our first death occurred. It was Cútyulusse, a friend of Angrod. My brother found him head in the snow with ice running deep into his face. We had no means by which to bury him, unless in a long effort by hand with too high a risk of injury to the living. It was near unanimously decided that we had to leave the body, although we mourned in silent ceremony as we walked. Angrod wrote an epitaph in the snow, although of course he knows it’s long gone. My poor brother hasn’t been the same since. I’ve done my best to comfort him of course, but what comfort can soothe a shock such as this?  
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I pray to Ilúvatar, although in truth I don’t quite know for what I’m praying. Respite, I suppose, and comfort to the mourning. Heat for all of us. It’s not like I expect Him to answer.

It’s finally starting to catch up with me how thoroughly exiled we are, how thoroughly the Valar have turned their backs on us. Irmo refuses to send dreams to me, dreams which would have been freedom. Dreams which could have given us enough repose to, perhaps, have more strength to push through the day. But I guess I will never know.

Instead I sleep restlessly, tossing and turning within a cold, dreamless void.  
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End file.
